


First Snow

by disaster_imp



Series: Finding Home [3]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angry Lambert (The Witcher), Dorks in Love, Hunting skinning and tanning furs, I shook a witcher and intergenerational trauma fell out, M/M, no beta we die like stregobor fucking should have
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:55:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28449525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disaster_imp/pseuds/disaster_imp
Summary: Aiden experiences a Kaer Morhen winter for the first time.
Relationships: Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher)
Series: Finding Home [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2048962
Comments: 38
Kudos: 132
Collections: The Witcher Flash Fic Challenge Winter 2020





	First Snow

**Author's Note:**

> One-shot written for [this](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/TWWFFW20) wintery flash fiction prompt.
> 
> Some getting-to-know Lambert and Aiden together before The First Time I Died.

  
"I've never seen snow," Aiden says, looking up at him from beneath long, dark lashes. He's so beautiful it makes Lambert's heart ache.

"You've never... the fuck? You're older than me!"

"Stygga was in Ebbing. It doesn't _snow_ that far south. The caravan travels, but we're not fucking stupid enough to sleep outdoors during a northern winter. We always head south for the colder months."

"What about the years at Hertch?"

"Wasn't there. Got stuck in a cell in Mettina for a bit."

"A bit?"

"Fine, a decade," Aiden mutters. "Got caught, trying to steal evidence. Food was reliable, at least."

"Lucky you. No," Lambert says. The cold at Kaer Morhen is inhumane, and the only reason he returns every year is to see the only family he knows. It's harsh, and isolated, and he doesn't want to inflict that on Aiden. "You'd hate it. It's so fucking cold you don't think you'll ever get warm again. The snow can be soft and deep enough to get buried if you fall in the wrong fucking hole, or so slippery you can't keep your footing when the snow melts and then ices over during the night; you can't feel your hands or your feet half the time, and when you can you wish you can't. Ice daggers form on the eaves and drop on you if you walk under them at the wrong time... I spend all winter just trying to keep _warm_. Go south, Aiden. Spend winter with... _what?"_

Tensing up, Aiden turns away and Lambert falls silent at the sudden change in demeanor. He puts a hand on Aiden's shoulder, only to have it shrugged off. 

"You - you don't _want_ me there," Aiden whispers, his voice thick with emotion, twisting with bitterness. "You don't want me to meet your family. I get it, I'm a Cat. We aren't welcome _anywhere."_

"Oh," Lambert says, realising his mistake. "Aiden, no. I want you there, more than anything. Selfishly. I don't want to drag you down in to my misery, the cold is... it _bites_. I hate going back, _I'm_ miserable. If you want to come and the others don't like it they can suck my damn dick. C'mere."

He pulls Aiden around into a firm embrace. "I want you."

"Then let me come. You need your pack, but Cats are solitary. If you have to go, let's go together. I don't want to be separated for so long. Not any more, Lamb. It gets harder every year. I would rather freeze with you, than live in any sort of comfort without."

Lambert's breath catches, as it does every time Aiden's earnest declarations of affection take him by surprise. "Okay. But we head up early, before the first snow. Means we'll have to help more with chores before winter sets in, but we won't freeze our balls off on the path up. And you'll need warm clothes. We go early enough, we'll have time to hunt wargs for a proper winter cloak."

"Wargs?" Aiden says in surprise.

"Hmm," Lambert replies. "Fur's warm and the leather's soft, if you treat it right. Takes a few weeks to prepare 'em properly. We always do a few at the start of the season anyway, couple more's no big deal. What colour do you want?"

"Colour?" Aiden asks, visibly confused. "Brown or black are typical, no?"

"Get grey and white in the mountains, too. Good and bad in the snow. Better camouflage, shows up every speck of dirt; harder to clean, harder to find you if get lost."

 _"White,"_ Aiden says instantly. He catches Lambert's hand in his, beaming while they walk. "I want white."

Lambert can already picture it, snow-white fur contrasting with the darker hue of Aiden's brown skin, and his mind races with thought, planning the process well before they even get there.

*****

The journey to the keep is easier than usual, by virtue of it not yet being cold enough to freeze one's dick off. Lambert _usually_ arrives last, usually leaves his run until the last possible minute - the less time spent at the place he refuses to call home, the better. Vesemir, for the first time in decades, fails to meet him at the gates. Lambert hates that he does that, but now... now that he's not here, that the routine is broken, that hurts too. 

_Fuck him, anyway._

They set the horses up in the stables. The wagon is missing - the old man must be in town, collecting supplies for the winter.

 _He didn't know we were coming,_ Lambert reminds himself, trying to drown out the swirling choas of anger and rejection.

Aiden is already wearing extra layers, and Lambert feels a pang of guilt for that, too. It must show on his face, because - 

"Lamb? You okay?"

He shakes his head. "Complicated." _Spiralling,_ is the unspoken message.

"Okay. Show me your room?" Aiden says, changing the subject.

"You get your own room," Lambert tells him, still distracted by thoughts that are trying to punish him for existing.

"No! You said - you _said_ \- I could stay with you!"

Aiden's voice is laced with panic, and Lambert snaps out of his own head, realising how cold he must have sounded.

"Ugh. No. There's so much space here. You get a room to call your own, your own space, for if you ever want it. Use it for whatever you want, or don't, it's yours anyway. We can stay together, you in my room, me in yours, fuck we can each have our own room _and_ one together, if you want."

"My own room?" Aiden's mood brightens so swiftly that Lambert smiles. He keeps fucking up, finding the right words isn't always easy and Aiden puts up with all his other shit, so.... he's trying. And he knows Aiden is happy to have found someone who puts up with _his_ shit too, the rapid mood swings, the emotional outbursts, the inability to contain so many feelings inside himself; the overloaded shutdowns. Lambert sees him differently, the infections enthusiasm, the love of life, the extraordinarly ability to express emotions easily. It's just part of who Aiden is. It's harder to convince himself that Aiden would accept him in the same way. Harder to convince himself that he's _worth_ being loved.

"I've never had my own room before," Aiden chirps happily. "The caravan - most people don't get one of their own to sleep in, most of us sleep outside, or under a wagon if it rains..."

"What about at an inn, or on a job?" Lambert asks.

"Okay, yeah. Not the same thing though, is it? That's temporary. This will be _mine._ Will it still be my room when I'm not here?"

Lambert smiles at his enthusiasm. "Sure, if you want. We'll need firewood, what do you want to do first? See my room, choose yours, or get a fire going in mine and let it warm up while we choose yours?"

"Oooh," Aiden says, letting out a shiver as if his body is just now realising how cold it is. "Cold. Fire first."

*****

Lambert and Aiden are chopping wood to tide the keep through winter when Vesemir returns. He stables and cares for the horse before approaching, eyeing Aiden with suspicion. Lambert glares at him.

"Aiden," Aiden introduces himself, holding out a hand. Vesemir ignores it. 

"School of the Cat. I know who you are," Vesemir grunts. "Cats are banned."

"Oh, can we _not_ with the historical bigotry? Aiden is my guest and you are no longer in charge, old man," Lambert interrupts, eyes flashing, but Aiden holds up a hand to silence him.

Vesemir looks at Aiden, and then scowls at Lambert. "Does he have you thralled, boy?"

The notion is so preposterous that Lambert laughs out loud. Aiden shakes his head.

"No, he just knows I prefer to speak for myself. I know you don't trust me. I wasn't involved in that cursed tournament."

"Aiden is staying," Lambert growls. "Deal with it. We'll go hunt wargs tomorrow, let me know if you have any requests before we leave."

Without a word, Vesemir turns back to his wagon to unpack the supplies, and Lambert heaves out a sigh.

"That went about as well as baiting a griffin trap with a blanket-covered log," Aiden says nervously.

"He's... _old,"_ Lambert says, shrugging it off. "Was the weapons instructor, before the sacking. Was alive during the pogrom. Still thinks he's in charge, with only four of us left. Things have changed, he doesn't get to give the orders any more."

"Can't imagine you were ever any good at taking orders, Lamb."

"Fuck off. C'mon, we should help unload."

*****

Lambert prods Aiden out of bed far too early the next morning. A pot of steaming porridge is already sitting by the hearth, although there is no sign of Vesemir. Aiden frowns, a question in his eyes.

"We don't always get along. We still cooperate," Lambert says, answering Aiden's curiosity. "Need to, for winter. Vesemir does most of the cooking, I manage the stills, Eskel the livestock, Geralt is horse girl. Most chores, we all pitch in."

Armed with swords and crossbows, they head out on foot. Lambert, after decades of experience, knows the likely places for wargs to settle, and leads the way. It's not long before they find the first tracks, and a lone warg. Lambert kills it quickly, skins it on the spot and waits.

"Don't they usually run in packs?" Aiden asks, looking around. 

"Yep. if we're lucky, there'll be two more. Unlucky... seven or eight."

It's four, and Aiden grins as he settles back to back with Lambert, enough time spent fighting together having taught them the best ways to work with each other. The fight is over fast, with only minor injuries to show for it. 

"I like watching you fight," Aiden says, eyes blazing with lust, pouncing on Lambert with amorous intent. 

"Hmm," Lambert says. "Skinning first. And I have a surprise to show you, back at the keep. The more time we waste fucking, the less time for the surprise."

"Fucking is never a waste of time, Lambert," Aiden says, nipping his neck.

  
When they return to the keep mid-afternoon smelling of sweat and sex and warg flesh, Vesemir rolls his eyes. He helps prepare one of the skins for drying before disappearing to prepare dinner. By the time Aiden and Lambert have finished the last two, a hearty stew with freshly baked bread waits for them on a large table in the kitchen. Vesemir is nowhere to be seen.

"We'll eat and clean up, then I'll show you Kaer Morhen's best kept secret."

Aiden looks down at clothes filthy with the day's endeavours. "You think we could wash first?"

"Wash your hands for dinner, leave the rest."

Aiden looks ready to object, and Lambert grins. "Don't make me ruin the surprise. Trust me."

Aiden grumbles. Curbing his curiosity has never been a strength, Lambert knows, and he scoffs his dinner down quickly. Lambert is tempted to drag it out, to eat slowly just to be contrary, but loses his resolve when Aiden huffs impatiently. 

Leading the way through the keep and outside to a sheltered walkway, Lambert shows Aiden into a large natural cavern in the rock wall, worn stone steps leading down. There are alcoves with shelves and soaps and towels, baskets for clothes, and a number of pools with steam rising from the water. Lambert uses igni to light a few lanterns and strips off, dumping his soiled clothing in a basket to launder later.

"Won't we contaminate the water?" Aiden asks incredulously.

"It's self-cleaning, to a point. Slow-moving water, bubbles up from the spring and flows away. Wash the worst off first over there, the drain bypasses the pools to dump the water outside." Lambert waves to the largest alcove, where buckets sit ready to collect water for that very purpose. 

"Help yourself to the soaps - we make those in winter too. Witcher-scented."

"They smell like witchers?"

"No, you clown. Mild scents, friendly to witcher senses. Take your pick."

Aiden approaches the shelf stacked with soaps, sniffing the air carefully. Chamomile, a very light lavender, a touch of rose. Mint, vanilla, anise, cinnamon, orange, wintergreen, and some with no added fragrance at all, just the scent of a natural castile soap. 

"How long do the fragrances last? Does it get annoying?"

Lambert shrugs. "Just pick what you like, you can always wash it off with something else if it bugs you."

"I don't want to waste..."

"Figuring out what you don't like isn't a waste." Lambert points to the varying amounts of the piles of soaps. "We only make a couple of batches each year. Whatever's getting low. Before we leave, at the end of winter, we felt some to take with us. Soap and washer all in one, keeps the saddlebags smelling good as a bonus."

"Felt? Soap? You _felt soap?"_

"Felt wool, around the soap. I'll show you how. You can take a share as well, same as everything we work on here. You'll pull your weight, same as we all do. Everyone benefits."

Aiden picks up a bar from the pile of anise-scented soap. It has small, grainy black flecks in the soap - crushed anise seeds. 

"That one's good for after fishing, neutralises the smell," Lambert tells him. They fill buckets from the hot spring to wash with, washing themselves and each other while Aiden quizzes Lambert.

"What else do you make? Furs, soap, anything else?"

"When winter hits we're holed up here good and proper. It's drink and play gwent all day, or do something productive. I have the stills, there are several spinning wheels, a large loom and a smaller one; Vesemir knits socks. The rest of us aren't great at that, but we can do it if we have to. Keep what we need of what we make, trade the rest in the village."

Aiden's mouth drops open. "Cats don't do anything like this. Cooperate. A couple of the elders knit for themselves, that's about it. Nobody really - shares resources. Not like this. Couples, sometimes. Close friends."

"You also work through winter. We have a solid two months of being snowed in trying not to freeze. The stables are connected to the keep so we don't have to dig a tunnel through snow to get there. I think you're clean," Lambert says, emptying a bucket of water over Aiden's head to rinse the soap off, and leading him over to the steaming pools.

*****

The next day is spent on chores around the keep; laundry, airing out bedlinen and furs for everyone, attending to livestock and chopping wood. The dried furs are salted - they'll allow for a new fur each, but they still don't have Aiden's white furs. The day after, they hunt wargs again, successfully returning at the end of a three-day hunt with three more warg skins, two white and one grey.

The next few weeks are spent on chores around the keep; laundry, airing out bedlinen furs in all the bedrooms, attending to livestock and chopping wood. Training starts up when Eskel arrives, a week after Lambert and Aiden. 

Aiden is fascinated with the process for tanning the warg pelts, and insists on preparing the white and grey ones himself. He learns about salting, how to use a fleshing knife, what chemicals are needed for tanning, how long it needs to soak; washing and rinsing, stretching and softening.

Geralt arrives a few days after Eskel. They are both polite to Aiden, as Lambert's friend, but are disinclined to form more of a relationship with him than that. Which is... fine. Intimate relationships had never been encouraged here, though Lambert can't help but be disappointed that after _everything_ they have been through, Geralt and Eskel still follow the old ways. He loves his wolf brothers, he does, but sometimes they make him want to scream.

When the furs are dry and complete, they each take one of the darker furs for their own use. Lambert takes the two white ones for Aiden's cloak, the grey going to the floor in Aiden's room for a rug. The next day is filled with choosing designs, learning to cut the furs, tailoring them to fit, and sewing everything together. Aiden's excitement only increases as the project draws to a close, and although it's still to early to _need_ the cloak, when it's done he wears it proudly, as often as he can.

Training commences with Eskel's arrival, Vesemir picking up his long-standing role as weapons master, drilling and correcting. For all his other faults, he is good at this. He doesn't huff and bluster at Aiden's Cat fighting style; he recognises the differences and has them learning to identify each others' strengths and weaknesses, acknowledges that Lambert's blend of wolf and cat styles works better for him than wolf techniques alone, and pushes everyone to improve - including Aiden.

As the weather grows colder, Aiden doesn't complain. Lambert makes sure the fires in their rooms are always ready to go, as well as the hearths in other well-used areas of the keep. Vesemir stares at him one day, lugging in firewood without even having to be _asked,_ and grunts, turning away. Wisely, he doesn't say anything. It's not like Lambert's ever shirked chores, he just... usually complains about them. Incessantly. As well as training. And the cold...

"Cats don't cooperate like this," Aiden tells him one day. "It's... nice, this working together. I get things of my own even though others have worked on them, I contribute to things that others get. It's very different, and I feel... _proud,_ I guess, of what I am helping to make. Of contributing. Things that make it easier for you on the path - I never noticed the soap before, didn't know it came from home - "

Lambert flinches. 

"Sorry. I know, poor word choice. Den, then? Somewhere you can come and be part of the community, no matter what else happens in the world."

Lambert thinks about Aiden's perspective for a bit, and he's not... wrong. But there are too many memories, too much trauma here, for him to truly consider it home. For Lambert, it's about the poeple, not the location. 

"You are my home," he says, two days later, and finds himself being smothered in kisses.

*****

The first snow falls, light and powdery, and Aiden is entranced. He rushes outside, so distracted that he forgets his cloak. Lambert follows him out, the luscious fur folded over one arm. 

  
"Brr! Cold!" Aiden says, taking the cloak gratefully, wrapping it around his shoulders, Lambert tugs the hood over his head, but Aiden shakes it off again with a laugh, turning his face up to the sky so tiny snowflakes land on his skin, quickly melting when they come into contact with Aiden's warmth. 

Aiden races around the courtyard, leaving footprints in the first light layer of snow, scooping up snowballs to throw at Aiden once enough has accumulated, marvelling at how _soft_ it is, not at all like the tiny beads of ice he imagined. His joy is infections, and Lambert finds himself forgetting how cold it is in favour of watching his lovers' happiness.

When the snow is deep enough, Lambert teaches him how to make snow angels and snowmen. Frivolous activities that, as boys, their teachers called idleness and punished with chores or essays, and which Lambert and some of the others did anyway.

It had been worth it. A small moment of lightness in a bleak existence. _Fuck witcher training, fuck the death toll and fuck anyone who thought they were doing the right thing._

Nights are spent curled up in bed together, and Lambert soaks up the warmth that radiates from Aiden like a lizard basking in the sun. Aiden is handling the decreasing temperatures far better than Lambert expected, and his presence has the unexpected efffect of _Lambert_ coping better with the cold, as well. 

"I'm glad you came," Lambert says, and he is once again rewarded with enthusiastic kisses. 

The day after the first snow, Aiden wakes early and races outside. Lambert gives chase, but the Cat witcher is light on his feet, and too fast. He throws open the doors to the courtyard, and by the time Lambert catches up to him, he's slipping and sliding across ice, the snow having melted in afternoon sun and frozen overnight, his arms waving wildly, landing on his backside with a solid thunk. 

Laughing, Lambert steps more carefully, bracing himself to help Aiden up. 

"Ow. That's going to bruise."

"You're a witcher, dumbass, you'll get over it," Lambert chuckles. "Come on, let's get breakfast. There's something I want to show you before we get snowed in."

*****

That afternoon, Lambert takes Aiden for a trek to the Circle of Elements. A layer of white coats the mountains around them, and Aiden looks around in fascination as they walk. He hasn't complained once about the cold - although Lambert knows he's feeling it, and he still hasn't lost his curiousity, his enthusiasm for everything that is new and different about Kaer Morhen. 

A smattering of icy rain interrupts their hike, and beads of water, freezing to ice in Aiden's neatly trimmed beard and long, wavy black hair, make both look peppered with white. Lambert catches his hand, pulling the hood of Aiden's cloak over his head to keep him warm. Sparkling green eyes turn on him and Aiden shakes his head, pushing the hood back again. He presses his lips to Lambert's in a surprisingly warm kiss.

 _He's really enjoying this,_ Lambert realises as they reach the end of their path: the altar and its magnificent view. 

"How do you do it?" Lambert asks.

"Do what?"

"Keep finding so much joy in everything?"

Aiden looks out at the view for a minute longer before responding, covering Lambert's hand with his own.

"You find beauty in this."

"It is beautiful. Peaceful. But it doesn't take away the pain. Nothing does."

Aiden sighs, and leans in to Lambert's side. "We can't help what was done to us. You can't change it. It's done. You can be mad, at what happened, at the people who've accepted it, who hold on to the past, rage at those who perpetuated it all - but Lamb, that's no way to live. If you hold that bitterness in your heart, the only person to suffer from it is _you._ Lamb, you're so kind, and intelligent, you're the best man I know. You took what was done to you, and turned it into protecting others, you fight so they don't have to suffer like you did, but you focus _so much_ on the past. You're letting them win."

Lambert snatches his hand away, refuses to meet Aiden's piercing gaze, but he doesn't move away, and the Cat witcher keeps talking.

"Cats are volatile. Quick to anger, quick to let go. We can't change what was done to us, but we can find happiness elsewhere - in a lovers' touch, in a spring flower, birdsong, music, a cold swim on a hot day, in first experiences - in _snow."_ He waves his hand at the vista in front of them. "A beautiful view, so far from civilisation. How many people get to see this? You're not the only one who's had it tough, but you are the only one who can decide how long you're going to let that rule your life, when to let it go."

"They were _wrong,"_ Lambert hisses.

"Yes. They were. They were evil. They took us and remade us without our consent; they murdered _children,_ through countless generations, and those who survived were traumatised into perpetuating the harm done. They were worse than the monsters we hunt. They are also _all dead._ They can't hurt us any more."

"How? Lambert asks. "How do you do this? How do you forgive?"

"Forgive?" Aiden laughs. "No. They don't deserve that. Enjoying my life is the best revenge - I live in spite of them, not because of them. Beauty is everywhere." Aiden points to a scraggly plant growing from between the stones, clinging to life in a hostile environment. "What do you see?"

"A bush beaten by the elements, ugly and stunted."

"Its seed landed here," Aiden says softly. "Somewhere unsuitable, yes. And yet it took root in a gap between the stones and grew, somewhere it can't get enough nutrients to nurture it well, exposed to the worst the elements have to offer. Even without intelligence, it is determined to survive. It's _strong,_ Lamb. Tenacious. Like you. It refuses to be beaten, and there is wonder in that."

"I'm not a fucking plant," Lambert growls.

Aiden arches an eyebrow. "No. You are strong, beautiful, intelligent, and the _bitchiest_ bitch I know, and I love you so much it hurts. I wish you could see yourself through my eyes. You deserve better than what was done to you, but I'm not sorry that it gave me you. I will _never_ be sorry that it gave us each other."

When Lambert doesn't respond, Aiden presses closer, a small shiver at the cold escaping in spite of the heavy cloak. Lambert's arms tighten around him.

"Look at everything you've done, since we've been here. You've worked so hard to keep me comfortable and warm. Spent weeks curing, tanning, sewing, to make me this beautiful cloak that is going to be completely useless anywhere but here. You've sacrificed your own comfort to show and teach me things, purely to satisfy my curiousity. Sometimes I think I don't deserve you..."  
  
At that, Lambert lets out a very wolf-like growl.

"Oh, hush. You can't talk, you think you don't deserve me, too. We're both wrong. If you're allowed to be such a fucking disaster, so am I."

"I love you," Lambert says suddenly, the unfamiliar words sounding unnatural, forced.

"I know, love. You say it every day, without words," Aiden says, pointedly looking at his cloak.

"Marry me," Lambert blurts out, before he can think better of it.

"What?"

"Marry me," Lambert says again, pulling a small wooden box out from a pouch on his belt. Inside are two solid silver rings, set with large black stones. "I know it's not... Witchers _don't._ Fuck that. I love you. _You_ are my family, my home, my heart, and I want a way to acknowledge that. Even if it's just us, here."

Speechless, Aiden stares at the rings, then at Lambert, and then back again. He reaches out a finger to touch the cool, smooth metal and stones in wonder.

"Lambert, never stop surprising me. _Yes."_


End file.
